Fork in the Road
by justagrump
Summary: Post Chosen. Does NOT follow Season 8. Not everyone is happy when Faith re-joins the gang on the Cleveland Hellmouth. Language. One-Shot.


Fork in the Road

by justagrump

**Disclaimer:** Of course we all know that I don't own the rights to anything regarding BTVS or Angel. The following is simply me following my muse and exercising a rarely used muscle... my brain. Attribute anything that doesn't follow canon to be AU. Enjoy!

Whoops of laughter flow from the living room as Buffy opens the back door and enters the kitchen. As she works on putting the fresh groceries away the door to the other room swings open revealing a giggling Dawn. Through the temporary opening Buffy can see Kennedy and Faith sitting on the floor in front of the television mashing the buttons on the game console controllers. On the couch behind the older brunette sits a slender young blonde girl that she doesn't recognize. She sits with on the edge of the cushion, her legs placed possessively on either side of the laughing Slayer. Just before the door swings closed Buffy spies one of the unknown girl's hands as it reaches out to caress the back of Faith's head, fingers trailing through the long deep brown locks.

Dawn opens the fridge grabbing a couple of cans of soda and two bottles of beer and places them on the counter to open them. Gathering the beverages rather awkwardly she turns to re-enter the living room.

"Dawn? Who's the new girl? Did Giles get back from New York all ready?"

A look of confusion crosses the taller girl's face. "What are you talking about, Buffy? Giles won't be back 'til next week. You know that."

Buffy glances back towards the closed door. "Then who's that in there with Faith and Kennedy? You know, the blonde girl, sitting on the couch? Did you bring one of your friends over from the college? You know I don't mind having your friends come by."

Dawn studies her sister's face for a moment before realization hits. "Oh! You must mean Kami. Um, no. She's not ... I mean, I know her but, no, we don't go to school together. She's uh ..."

With a look of sisterly concern Buffy closes the distance to stand next to Dawn. Noting the blush sweeping it's way up her sisters face and the sudden increase of her heart beat, Buffy briefly wonders if she hadn't had the wrong 'Talk' with her sister. "She's what, Dawn? Are you two, um ... you know … um, like, seeing each other? You know you can talk to me about anything, right? It's not like I have any right to judge you or anything if, you know, if you like her as … as more than a friend."

Surprised at what she's just heard, the slender brunette takes a couple of steps back. "Wait, what? God, Buffy, no! First, Ew! I sooo am not interested in girls. That's just gross. Not that there's anything wrong with it, you know, like Willow and Kenny. It's just that I like, you know ... boys, guys. You know, with the muscles and penises and stuff." Ignoring the expression of shock on her sister's face she continues on. "And second, she's not here with me, she's with Faith. They've been dating for a couple of weeks now."

"Faith? Faith's dating girls now? Faith's _dating_ now? When did this happen? What happened to the original 'get some, get gone' girl? I thought she was all into the guy thing, too! Lots of them, and not always just one at a time either. I guess she found another way to 'scratch that itch' while she was in prison, huh?"

This time it's Buffy's turn to step back in surprise at the flash of anger and scorn that crosses Dawn's features. "Geez, Buffy, bitch much? People change, you know. Faith's not the same person you knew back in Sunndydale any more than you or I are. You keep saying that you don't judge people but when it comes to Faith, that's all you ever do!"

Attempting to recover from her sister's verbal onslaught, the petite blonde steps back up to the younger girl and lays a hand on her arm. "That's different, Dawn and you know it. It's just ... I mean, it's Faith! Maybe you don't remember everything that happened ..."

Raising her voice, Dawn angrily overrides Buffy. "I do so remember! I remember _everything_, Buffy. Even the stuff that never really happened before those monks created me. I remember that she came back to help us with the First and Caleb and those Bringers when she didn't have to. She'd been released from prison and she could have gone anywhere she wanted, but she came to help us fight. I remember that when we all kicked you out of the house, Faith was the only one that stood up for you. I remember that she fought right by your side through the entire battle and protected you when you got hurt."

Dawn does her best to fight back the tears of anger, but it's a losing battle. Once a Summers girl's floodgates were opened, there was no stopping them until they had run their course and the well was dry.

"I _remember_, Buffy. Faith's the one who made sure that everyone who was still alive got out of that school safely. She's the one who kept looking for you as we were driving away from that crater. And I remember, Buffy, even if you don't, that she went to _prison_ because _you_ told her to! She was going to throw herself off that roof in L.A. and end it all right then and there, but she _didn't_. She turned herself in to the police. Gave them a complete confession about how _SHE_ accidently stabbed Finch and then murdered that professor. Faith did that because _YOU_ told her it was the right thing to do. And she stayed there, Buffy. She could have broken out at any time and _nobody_ could have stopped her. She's a Slayer, Buffy. You know that nobody could have stopped Faith from just walking out of there if she decided she didn't want to be there anymore. But she stayed. Because she knew that was what _YOU_ would have done and that was what _YOU_ expected her to do. She's changed, Buffy. Why can't you see that? Why _won't_ you see that? She's a better person now! Why won't you even give her a _chance_!"

With a wrench of her arm Dawn breaks free of Buffy's hand and marches through the swinging door to the living room. Stunned into silence, Buffy barely notices how quiet the house has gotten. In the other room, three sheepish faces avoid looking at anything in particular until the door swings closed again. Soon after, the popping sound of a motorcycle engine starting snaps Buffy's out of her shock and she looks out the kitchen window to see two helmeted figures speed off into coming night.

(Later That Evening)

The night.

It's her element. Her domain. Her world. She rules the night and suffers no intruder, offers no respite to those who would usurp her. She roams the countryside in search of her prey. At night. She roams and seeks her prey, hunts down and Slays all who would defy her, all who would dare enter her domain and threaten the innocents she is here to protect. She rules the night and guards those under her care who, in their ignorance of the war being waged around them, in the night, would venture forth in search of merriment, or perhaps employment, or simply to enjoy the peaceful beauty of the night that she has provided them. Protecting the innocent. It's what she was created for. It is her sole purpose in life and she has accepted that responsibility. She revels in the power granted to her to accomplish that purpose.

So why does she feel like crap right now?

Buffy Summers, the Slayer formerly known as the Chosen One, The One Girl in All The World, reclines forlornly against the trunk of the old oak tree on the bank of gurgling stream as the night that she rules cloaks the countryside like a warm and comfortable … well ... cloak. She knows these surroundings, has been here many times. She knows the sounds and scents of what belongs here and would know instantly if anything was amiss. She knows the texture of the bark pressing against her back. She knows well the moisture seeping through the seat of her jeans from out of the earth upon she sits. The sounds of the streams, the scents that are carried to her on the evening breeze. Okay, maybe she knows that moisture a little too well.

She sighs as she shifts her position and chooses a not as comfortable as it might look root at the base of the oak tree. That's just great. Now, not only will her butt be cold and damp but sore from sitting on that jutting root because, really when you get right down to it, there's just no way to sit comfortably on a tree root.

"I could dry those for you, if you want. And maybe a couple of chairs. It wouldn't take but a minute."

The petite blonde doesn't jump at the soft voice beside her. She knew Willow was there. She had picked up the familiar and comforting scent of her best friend advancing across the field long before the redhead was close enough to see her in the darkness.

"No thanks, Will. I'll be fine. I really should remember to bring a cushion out with me one of these days. Why does it always seem so much more comfy in those paintings, like the ones that Norman Lear guy paints and you see them in the magazines all the time? Why don't those people ever have wet butts when they sit on the ground?"

"Rockwell"

"Rock what now?"

"Rock_well_. Norman Rockwell. He did those paintings, for the Saturday Evening Post. And maybe he did give them wet butts, you just might not have noticed. I never looked that closely at them myself. Or, they might not have had time to get wet yet. Or maybe even, they, you know, had cushions and they remembered to bring them. I think he painted, like, snapshots of life. Those ideal moments of life that everybody else always just seems to take for granted. And he captures them, like a photograph, so that people can look at them and remember the good times to help them get through the tough times."

"Yeah, you're probably right, Will. I hadn't really thought about it much. My mom was the one who got the art gene in the family. And with Sunnydale at the bottom of a crater that we created, I don't even get to have those snapshots anymore. All those photographs that we had that I was too busy being a teenager to take the time to look at with her are all gone now."

She sighs again, lost in the memories of days gone by. Better days. Days when her mother was still alive and doing all those annoying mother type things that she had wished every day that she would stop doing and now she wished every day that her mother was still alive and still able to do. Buffy feels the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes and acknowledges them as they glided silently down her skin. Tears of love. Tears of loss.

She leans into the warm embrace of her best friend and accepts the tender comfort and compassion flowing endlessly from the heart of this woman whom she loves almost as a mother. Not a replacement mother. It was impossible to replace the original. Not a step-mother either. It didn't matter how much you might like a step-mother, she could never match the original, for better or worse. More like a surrogate mother. The type of person who would let you know when you screwed up and still love you. The type of person you could share your deepest secrets with and trust that no one else in all the world would ever find out about. The one person you could turn to with a problem, any problem, and you just know she'll find a way to help you. You might not like the way, but you knew it was the right way. Willow was her friend. Her _best_ friend, and her surrogate mother.

Buffy let her tears flow, slower now and they would soon stop of their accord. The well was nearly empty now. It would take time for it fill up again. She buries her streaked and puffy face in Willows chest. It isn't sexual in nature. Buffy and Willow love each other, but not as lovers. Perhaps, if things had been different, it might have happened. Buffy always wondered if Willow might have thought that way about her, but if she had, Willow had never acted on it. Buffy breathes deep through her nose and takes in Willows comforting scent. She instinctively catalogs each and every variation: the lavender soap used in the shower this morning, Tide detergent for her clothes, the light spicy aroma of her skin, the heavier musky scent that all women have but is unique to each. She could be blindfolded and deaf in a room filled with people and still identify any woman she has ever spent more than five minutes with by that musk alone. It was instinct. Slayer instinct.

"You heard what happened today, didn't you?" Willow's heart thumped strong and steady in Buffy's ear.

Faith had once told her about her Watcher, Diana Danvers, shortly after her arrival in Sunnydale but before the Mayor, before the betrayal, before Alan Finch. During that oh so brief a time when Buffy had dared think that … just maybe. According to Diana, the Slayer is better than a lie detector. Machines can fooled, gamed, outwitted. But a trained Slayer can learn to detect the subtle ways people lie. Increased sweating, shifting of the eyes, changes in their heartbeat. She listened now to that steady beat issuing out from that fragrant chest.

"Yup. I heard about it. According to Kenny, pretty much anybody else who was in the house, or even, you know, within a mile coulda heard it." Warmth and comfort, Willow stroking her hair soothingly.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

"Are you mad at me?"

"A little, maybe. Mostly disappointed."

Thump thump. Thump thump.

"Faith hates, me doesn't she?"

"I don't know how Faith feels. Haven't seen her today. It's not me that needs to see her."

Stroke stroke. Thump thump.

"I'm sorry Wills. You know that, right? You know that I'm sorry."

"Sweety, I know you're sorry. I know I'm not the one you have to apologize to. I also know that you don't know what you're sorry about. Or what you're so angry about. Do you?"

Stroke stroke. Thump thump.

A sigh. Heavy and deep. Taking in that comforting scent.

"She betrayed me, Will. You know that she betrayed me. She hurt me and the people I love. I can't forgive her for that."

"You forgave me, Sweety. I betrayed you. I hurt people you love. I hurt Dawnie and you forgave me. I think maybe it's more than that. Don't you think it's more than that?"

Stroke stroke. Thump thump.

"I don't know what I think anymore. She left, Will. She left after Sunnydale and now she's back. Not one word in almost two years and she comes strolling back into our lives with her dimples and her tight clothes as if nothing happened and everybody just accepts it. I don't know what to think anymore."

"Giles knew where she was, Sweety. He talked to her lots of times and he knew where she was. All you had to do was ask him."

Stroke stroke. Thump thump. A gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"I did. All he would tell me was that she helping track down some of the new Slayers that were created with that Scythe spell you cast. But he wouldn't tell me anything else, where she was, or how she was doing." Or _who_ she was doing. "All he would tell me was that she needed to do this on her own for now. And now she's back and she still won't talk to me. Will, she won't even _look_ at me."

"You haven't really given her much of a chance though, have you, Buffy. She knows you're angry. Everybody knows you're angry. We can just look at you and know how angry you are at. Some of us, a few, even know _why_ you're angry. But you'd never believe us, never believe me if I told you so I think you have to discover that out for yourself."

Stroke stroke. Thump thump thump.

"Will, what aren't you telling me? You know something, something else and you're not telling me."

"I think you know what it is, Sweety. But you're afraid of it. So you hide from it and the being afraid and the hiding is what's making you angry. And you take it out on Faith because you don't know what else to do with that fear and that anger. Being angry at Faith is familiar and this other thing isn't and people like to stick with what's familiar."

Stroke stroke. Thump thump.

"Will. You knew where Faith was, didn't you?"

"Mmmhmm."

"You knew and didn't tell me. And you talked with her and you didn't tell me."

"Faith asked me not to. She explained her reasons and I agreed with her. So I didn't tell you."

Stroke stroke. Thump thump.

"I should kick your butt. You know I should kick your butt for not telling me. What am I going to do, Will?"

"You know you can kick my butt anytime you're right, Buffy. But this time you're not right and you know that you're not and so you won't. As to what you do next, that's up to you, Sweety. You can keep on being angry with Faith and drive her and the rest of us away, or you can admit to yourself what you're so afraid of and see what happens from there. Two roads, Buffy. The familiar and comfortable, or the new and scary one that you don't where it goes. But only you can choose, Sweety. No one can make that choice for you."

Thump thump.

"And now I have to go, Sweety. I'm getting sleepy and Kenny's waiting for me."

"I know. She's about a hundred feet back and pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. I think she's afraid I might hurt you. She knows, doesn't she? This secret I have and won't tell myself?"

"Yeah. She knows. We've talked about it. And she knows you won't hurt me. Faith's her friend, probably her best friend and she's pretty pissed off right now. She wants to kick your butt, but I told her I'd take care of it. I love you Buffy and I always will. You don't have to be afraid anymore. Not if you don't want to be."

"I love you to, Will. You know that, right? I'd never hurt you. You know that, right? And that Kennedy couldn't kick my butt even if her best day and my worst day were the same?"

"I know Sweety. But my Kenny's a Slayer. She'd still try. Don't stay up too late."

(The Next Day)

She leaned against the wall at the back of the small gym and let the sounds and scents wash over her. Sixteen girls in eight pairs of two were being put through their paces. Some of those girls weren't even sixteen yet. They had all been called by a mysterious force that swept around the globe one fateful day nearly two years ago and could only wonder what the Hell had happened. Until the day another mysterious force swept into their lives, explained what had happened, what it meant, showed them proof and offered them a choice. Not all who were called answered. Some rejected the explanation and the proof out of hand and refused to be swayed. Others were more open and accepting, but for reasons of their own were unable to heed that call. But those who were able and willing answered that call and were given a name, a telephone number and later, an address in a sleepy little town not far from Cleveland, Ohio.

They came, those who were willing and able, to this new school. An Academy, privately owned, privately funded although no one outside of this Academy knew for certain where that funding came from. They came to The Slayer Academy. It wasn't called that of course. There were appearances to maintain, public records to keep, security measures in place that would make a Pentagon general soil his underwear just to get a mere glimpse of. But it was a school, the School For Gifted Young Women, and the girls came and they learned and they trained to defend the innocents of the world.

Buffy had met each of these girls, and many others who were learning or training in other areas on the sprawling grounds. She knew, without looking, without listening, who each and every one of them was by name. And by scent. Each unique to it's owner. She reveled in her power now, having accepted the responsibility she had once tried to deny. She learned, too. Buffy learned what her friends had known for quite some time, that she had been denying another part of her. She also learned that she didn't have power over this part of her. She couldn't revel in it, and it terrified her. Her terror made her angry and she directed that anger towards the source of that part of her that terrified her. Towards the sure and confident young brunette that led this class of gifted young women through their paces.

"A'right! Good job everybody. Looks like you're all starting to get the hang of this shit. Stay in your pairs and work on those moves I showed ya's yesterday. Tomorrow we'll switch partners and go through them some more. Ya got lunch in twenty minutes and I want each of ya to give me that full twenty. That means no skating out early again, _Clare_."

Faith tosses a dimpled grin at the now blushing named girl as she grabs a towel and heads for the showers. She's been studiously ignoring one particular scent that had entered that small gym half an hour ago. Instinct told her she should leave, abandon the field before the battle began, but she couldn't just leave in the middle of the class. She had a responsibility to these girls, many of whom she had personally located and talked to and convinced to make the trip to this sleepy little town so they could fulfill their destiny. Besides, she was getting damned sick and tired of tucking her tail and running. Maybe it was time to get this over with.

She turns her feet and heads instead towards the door that led outside. The normally confident and proud young warrior ducks her head and averts her gaze from the petite blonde as she passes, snatching a bottle of water from the ice chest against the wall without looking and heads out into the sunlight. That's where Buffy finds Faith, leaning against the wall, drinking her water and avoiding her eyes. Buffy just stands there, quietly admiring the form of the younger woman. She's pretty sure she's never seen anyone more beautiful than that proud young warrior standing in the sunshine on that warm day.

One bare and tanned foot was planted firmly on the ground, the other braced against the wall behind her. Lean, muscular legs that refused to be hidden beneath thin sweat pants. They had to be black, those sweat pants. One day, during her travels Faith had passed a health club that had full length windows facing the street instead of walls. She had wondered if there had been an explosion at a Crayola factory somewhere nearby. It was either that, or Buffy's pastel fashion sense was taking over the world, one spa at a time.

The flat plane of her stomach was also tanned. Buffy's gaze was captivated by a lone bead of sweat as it crept with agonizing slowness down that sun-kissed skin towards the waist band of those black sweat pants. Her concentration was broken, however, as that teasing little droplet caught briefly on a white, horizontal scar. Buffy knew how Faith had received that scar. She knew that Faith had many scars on her body. That was the life of a Slayer. Buffy herself had earned her fair share of them over the years. But this one was different. It always would be.

With more effort than it should have required, Buffy manages to wrench her gaze upwards, traveling swiftly now to take in the lowered gaze and bowed head of the proud warrior standing before her. Long strands of brown hair fall across that face, as if attempting to hide and protect what lay beneath. Hooded eyes, smooth tanned skin, full soft lips, more scars. One on the end of her chin. Small, almost completely faded, but still visible thanks to the caresses of the sun. Another over her left eyebrow. The delicate nose had been broken in some past battle and it showed. The face was a favored target in battles. Always exposed, difficult to defend.

Faith stands there, leaning against the wall, in the sun. Body tensed, head bowed, eyes averted. Skittish, like a colt ready to bolt at the first hint of trouble.

And Buffy tells herself a secret.

Faith knew she was there. She always knew where Buffy was. Had always known since the first day she met her so long ago in Sunnydale. She didn't know why but she suspected it had something to do with being the last of the Chosen Ones. She didn't feel the other girls, the new ones, not the way she felt Buffy. Not even her only real friend Kennedy. But she could always tell where Buffy was and her world orbited around the older girl like the moon orbited the Earth. She knew it for a fact and didn't question it anymore.

Faith knew Buffy was angry. She knew why Buffy was angry. There wasn't anything she could do to change it, so she avoided the anger, avoided Buffy. Faith knew first hand what it was like to carry that anger around inside you all the time, unable to admit even to yourself why you're was so angry. She had used that anger to kill another human being. And it very nearly killed her. That anger has expressed itself in ways Faith had never imagined possible. She had the scars to prove it, if anybody looked closely enough. It was time to stop avoiding. There always came a time when you simply had to stop running away. No matter how frightened you were.

"Hey."

One word. Soft, gentle. Faith flinched. A skittish colt ready to bolt. Buffy saw that flinch and her heart broke. Shattered by the pain that flashes across that proud young warrior's face. She had done that. She had caused that flinch. Caused it with just one word. But that wasn't true. Buffy knew it wasn't true. There had been many words before that one. None of them soft and gentle.

"Hey."

Buffy nearly jumped at that word. The husky voice that had uttered it. Tears leaked out, burning hot with shame. Two roads lay before her. She could take one. One road terrified her, she didn't know where it would lead. The other she knew well. Okay, maybe a little too well. But she knew what it offered.

"I'm sorry. I … I'm sorry."

She didn't know this road. There were twists and turns that confused her and blocked her view, roots and rocks that waited to trip her up. She didn't where this road would take her. But she knew where she had been and she hadn't really liked it there. The pain and sadness she had caused this beautiful woman standing before her. One wrong move, one wrong word and the colt would bolt.

"I... I just want you to know that. Okay?"

"Okay."


End file.
